Authors: Sophie McKenzie
I strode across the hallway and up the stairs. There were two bedrooms in the flat, each with their own bathroom. Annie and Sam used to sleep in one, with Madison in a fold-out bed by the
wardrobe. Shelby and I were supposed to share the other room, though in practice Shelby hadn’t visited the flat much in the short time Annie and Sam had owned it. When they came to visit, she
tended to stay behind with friends in the States. I headed for Annie and Sam’s room, opened the sliding door of the long, wooden wardrobe and pulled out an armful of shoeboxes.
My phone rang. I jumped, but it was only Mum. I let the call go to voice mail. I knew what the message would say without even listening to it:
hope you are revising . . . call me . . .
I
wrote a quick text back saying I would ring later.
As I pressed send, I heard a scuffing noise outside the room. I looked up. There it was again. The sound of a hand trailing along the wall up the stairs. Was that Jam, following me up here?
‘Jam?’ I called out.
No reply.
I froze, as whoever it was reached the top of the stairs. Footsteps sounded across the short landing. Then stopped.
I tensed, my pulse racing. I looked round, desperately, for something . . . anything . . . I could use as a weapon. An open shoebox lay at my feet. I grabbed the shoe inside – an elegant
stiletto of Annie’s – and clutched it in my hand.
‘Who’s there?’
Again, no reply.
I stood, arm raised, as the door creaked slowly open.
Revelations
The door opened fully. I held my breath, my heart pounding. Shelby stood in the doorway, her mouth in an ‘o’ shape of shock.
‘You?’ I stared at her, lowering the stiletto. ‘What are you doing here?’
Shelby glanced at the shoeboxes lying open at my feet. ‘Why are you going through Mom’s stuff?’ she demanded.
No way was I going to take that accusing tone from her.
‘Why did you call the police?’ I snapped back. ‘What were you thinking? Madison could have been killed.’
Shelby met my gaze. ‘Don’t lecture me about Madison. It’s
your
fault she was taken in the first place.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, you haven’t answered my
question. Why are you here?’
‘I’m looking for something,’ I said as icily as I could.
‘In Mom’s closet?’ Shelby raised her eyebrows.
I hesitated. Jam and I were up against a deadline here – so we could certainly use Shelby’s help – but how could I trust her after she’d gone to the police earlier?
‘I’m sorry, but it’s none of your business,’ I said.
‘It is so, you toxic cow.’
My mouth gaped. She was
unbelievable
.
Shelby put her hands on her hips. She was wearing cut-off jeans that did nothing for her rather short, stumpy legs. Her hair was unbrushed and pulled unattractively off her face in a loose
ponytail and, as usual, her make-up was far too heavy.
I wanted to point out all of these things. I wanted to hurt her. But I bit back the scathing words that were itching to leap out of my mouth. I
had
to focus on Madison.
‘We can talk about who’s toxic when Madison’s home,’ I said calmly. ‘Right now I’m concentrating on rescuing her. Maybe you could do the same.’
Shelby’s lip curled with fury. ‘What has getting Madison back got to do with you poking around in Mom’s closet?’
‘I told you to mind your own business,’ I snapped. ‘You already ruined one exchange by running to the police. Luckily for you Mo’s all right, but if they’d killed
her it would be your fault so I’m not telling you anything about what they want us to do now.’
‘Is Madison really OK?’ Shelby’s voice lost its harsh edge. ‘Mom showed me your text, but . . . did you speak to her?’
‘Like you care.’
Shelby’s lip trembled. She turned to walk away and bumped into Jam who just then appeared in the doorway.
‘Hey, Shelbs, I didn’t hear you come in.’ He frowned. ‘You come to help with the search?’
Shelby blushed. ‘Lauren doesn’t want me to.’
Jam glanced over at me. ‘That’s stupid, Lazerbrain. We don’t have much time, we should use all the help we can get.’
Anger rose inside me. How dare Jam side with Shelby?
‘How did you know where we were?’ Jam turned back to Shelby.
‘This.’ Shelby held out her phone to him.
Jam took in whatever was on the screen and looked up at me.
‘She’s had a text from the kidnappers, Lauren,’ he said. ‘Telling her the same as you.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’
Shelby shrugged. ‘They just told me to come and search the flat for some valuable thing Dad left me,’ she said.
A wave of jealousy washed over me.
I hated myself for it. After all, finding and rescuing Madison was what really mattered – but it wasn’t fair. Shelby had been Sam’s daughter all her life. I’d only really
known him for a year before he died. If he’d left both of us something then it wasn’t specially for me.
‘So if you knew about these supposed valuables then you already
knew
what I was looking for?’ I glared at her.
Honestly, she was impossible.
Shelby gave me a sulky look back.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t shown that text from the kidnappers straight to the police,’ I said, acid in my voice.
‘How did you get here?’ Jam asked.
‘I took the train, same as you,’ Shelby explained.
‘Annie’ll be worried sick,’ I said reproachfully.
‘She thinks I’ve gone out for the afternoon with a friend visiting from home. Rick persuaded her to let me go. Said I needed the break. Anyway . . .’ Shelby looked away.
‘Mom’s mad at me for calling the police.’
‘Your mum’s just upset because of Madison.’ Jam patted Shelby’s arm. ‘It’s not your fault.’
Shelby smiled gratefully at him. ‘I feel real bad about all that,’ she said in a low voice.
‘You mean you admit you were wrong to go to the cops?’ I said.
Shelby pressed her lips together, her face mutinous. ‘I’m not saying that,’ she said.
Jam rolled his eyes. ‘May I remind you both that we have very little time to find out if there’s anything valuable here, so maybe we should get on with it?’
Jealousy rose inside me again. It was one thing Jam telling me off when we were alone. But it was humiliating to do it in front of Shelby.
‘Fine,’ I said, not making eye contact with either of them. ‘Why don’t you take the other bedroom, Shelby? I’ll carry on looking in here.’
‘Whatever.’ Shelby disappeared from view.
Jam was still standing in the doorway, but I turned my attention to the pile of boxes at my feet. I sensed him waiting there for a few seconds, but when I finally looked up he was gone.
I tried to lose myself in the search – to put my anxiety about Madison, my irritation with Jam and my dislike of Shelby all out of my mind.
As I systematically pored over every inch of the wardrobe, my brain was still working at ninety miles an hour. I didn’t understand why the kidnappers had suddenly decided to involve
Shelby. Maybe they thought approaching her directly would make her think twice about blabbing to the police again. Or maybe they’d always intended to involve us both if the original exchange
failed.
I couldn’t work it out.
There was definitely nothing in the wardrobe. It wasn’t full – just a few dresses and coats of Annie’s at one end – and some of Sam’s polo shirts and jeans at the
other. This wasn’t surprising, of course. Annie and Sam only bought the apartment in order to have a base to stay in when they visited me in London.
I found an old leather jacket of Sam’s in the far corner, where it had fallen off its hanger. I searched its pockets, which were empty, then pressed it to my face.
The lemony scent of Sam’s aftershave filled my nostrils, cutting through the dense smell of the leather. I suddenly hurt with the loss of him. Aside from Madison, I’d always got on
better with Sam than with anyone else in my birth family. He was far more laid-back than Annie – kind and sweet with Madison and he always treated me as a grown-up.
I put the jacket on a hanger and placed it carefully back on the rail. I rummaged through a pile of jumpers, two drawers of underwear and a stack of CDs.
There was nothing here of any value, as far as I could see.
I turned to the rest of the room. I could hear Shelby banging about in the bedroom opposite. Jam was silent downstairs.
Sighing, I crossed the room to the first of the two bedside drawers. One was full of clutter: a stack of romance novels, a nail file, some eyelash curlers and two tubes of hand cream.
Guessing this was Annie’s side of the bed, I crawled over the duvet to the other. Everything was clean and dusted – Annie must pay a cleaner to come in regularly. The second bedside
drawer was neater, simply containing a bundle of bank statements, a few receipts and some yacht magazines. Definitely Sam’s stuff.
I sat on the bed and pored over the papers. Weird to think Sam must have been the last person to touch them, just shoving them in this little drawer and imagining he would one day soon come back
to them. There was nothing of any value in here. Even the bank statements only referred to relatively tiny amounts of cash – just a few hundred quid going in and out over several months.
I put the papers back in the drawer. But I couldn’t lay them flat. There was something right at the end of the drawer. I felt inside and drew out a small metal box. It was locked and there
was no sign of a key.
I hesitated, then shook the box. Nothing rattled or clinked. Whatever was inside must be well padded. It could easily be jewellery – or cash.
I had to find out what was there. Grabbing one of the nail files from the other bedside drawer, I prised open the lid.
Two white envelopes lay inside.
I picked them up. They were flat and light – no bulky objects inside.
One envelope was addressed to Shelby, the other to me. Neither was properly sealed.
I laid Shelby’s envelope on the bed and picked up mine. With trembling hands, I unfolded the piece of paper inside: one side of A4, in Sam’s elegant handwriting.
Dear Lauren
What I have just told you will have come as a shock but now you are old enough to know the truth. I never wanted to lie but Annie thought it was for the best and –
once you had been taken from us – the decision was out of our hands.
I am writing this letter so that the facts are down on paper, for you to come back to once the initial shock has worn off.
My heart thumped. Clearly Sam had written this letter assuming I would read it after a conversation that, thanks to his death, had never taken place. I read on.
I’m always happy to talk about what we did and why. This letter is not a substitute for any future conversations, just an attempt to offer some clarity. I hope you
will understand.
As you now know, you are not my biological daughter.
I stopped reading.
What?
It couldn’t be true. Every cell in my body screamed out against the words on the page.
Sam wasn’t my birth dad?
How could that
possibly
be true? Everything I’d done two years ago to find Annie and Sam had been based on needing to know who my real parents were. And I had found them. It had
taken a flight to America and a bus ride through Vermont after which I’d been lied to, kidnapped and left for dead in a desolate, snow-laden forest . . . but I had found them. My birth mum
and dad.
And now, my father . . . my
second
father was telling me he wasn’t my birth dad
either
?
Still barely able to take it in, I read on.
I was unable to have my own children. Annie and I knew this three years into our marriage, after a year of trying for a baby and a series of fertility tests. The sperm
donor did not legally have to give his name and Annie and I know nothing about him, other than that he was a medical student with colouring as close to mine as we could manage. We had to
explain this to the police and the FBI, of course, when we were required to undergo DNA testing to prove we were your parents. It was easy to produce the sperm donor paperwork to show the true
circumstances of your conception and those involved were extremely sympathetic. More than anything, we didn’t want to overload you with information when you were already having to adjust
to us as your birth parents.
I stopped reading again. Annie and Sam had lied over my DNA test? It felt like the world as I knew it had been turned on its head.
Shelby’s father is another story. By now I imagine you girls will have confided in each other and she will know her heritage as you know yours. I know you will do
your best to help her with the inevitable pain she will experience. Hers is a heavy burden to carry.
Madison is still very young and I’m not sure she is ready to learn that she was conceived through the same sperm donor as you. Perhaps we could discuss that? I’m happy to give
you any further information I can, though I have to stress the donor sperm we used was from an anonymous hospital source. He has no idea of your existence and we know nothing about him.
Please believe that I could not love you more if you had been born from my blood. I hope you will feel able to talk to me and Annie about all this but, however you respond, we will always
be your loving parents.
Sam
My mind reeled. This was too much . . . too overwhelming to cope with. I shoved the letter in my pocket. How could Sam and Annie have kept this huge piece of information from
me?
Not just me. Shelby’s letter, lying unopened on the bed, caught my eye. I picked it up and glanced towards the bedroom opposite. I could hear her in there, banging drawers and cursing.
I stared down at the envelope in my hand. If Sam couldn’t have his own kids and Madison and I were the product of a sperm donor then who on earth was Shelby’s dad?
I know you will do your best to help her with the inevitable pain she will experience. Hers is a heavy burden to carry.